Tree House
by AllenWalker4ever
Summary: Miguel has found himself thrown out of his usual life as a normal, undistingished kid and into a world with one too many criminals, and a few friends he can't trust to keep their fingers out of his life, or his pants.  France x Mexico CRACK PAIRING random
1. Chapter 1

A tree house is a fort. To bar off anyone unwanted, the moat being pure height and space, the castle being held up by the great tree. To hide in, to feel secure in, even if it's more dangerous than being on the ground. A tree house is a childish home, made for nothing conventional and nothing sensical.

Miguel didn't have a tree to work with in the front yard, or the backyard. All he had was himself, that small hut, and cactus. He was a child; he had to remind himself, not a real estate agent. A child would build a tree house in a cactus, regardless of the consequences.

Once the small hut was up in the cactus, he felt disappointed that it wasn't more than five inches off the ground. His older siblings teased him about it, running around him and poking his face when it turned a little red.

He spent ages out in the sun, letting it soak into his skin and make it an even darker brown. He curled up in that tree house, letting it be a home outside of the orphanage.

He heard his siblings start playing in the front yard.

Miguel sighed, and he pulled his little hut off of the cactus, which'd grown lopsided from his weight. The hut was so small that he could carry it in his hands. He barely fit inside anymore.

"Hey? Little guy, what're you doing?" A cheerful preteen asked him. He looked up at the tanned skin and the wide smile directed at him.

"I'm taking apart ma tweehouse." He tried, his voice squeaking and slurring a little. He had a hard time talking at his IQ level. English being his second language didn't help.

"Aww, you're so cute. My name's 'Tonio." He ruffled Miguel's hair a little. "What's yours?"

"It's Miguel. And I'm not supposed to talk to stwangers." He tried, his voice still not coming out how he thought it should. The preteen just smiled brighter.

"You're adorable!" He squeed. "You should come with me; I can help you get a good tree house, m'kay?"

"Really?" Miguel's face broke out into a big smile. "A real big super cool one?"

'Tonio nodded, holding out his hand for the 7 year old to take. He looked honest enough, so Miguel went ahead and grabbed it. Someone who was like that couldn't be all that bad. Could they? Miguel liked to think he had good enough judgment to tell.

"I have a bunch of buddies who'll love to hang out with you and my auntie and uncle will love to meet you, unless my auntie's in a bad mood." He babbled like a brook, happy as one too. Miguel let a small smile creep on his face.

He'd have a fort to hide his weaknesses in.

* * *

'Tonio had gathered a small group of three to help build, but two of them seemed indifferent. One was smaller than him, and that was a feat considering she seemed older than him. But she was wearing a little cute green dress, and Miguel didn't think she'd want to ruin it with heavy duty work.

The other one was blonde, and he looked like a total wuss, so Miguel dismissed him just as he'd dismissed the little girl.

Tonio grinned brightly. "Look guys, I found this one and isn't he so cute? I said we'd build him a tree house that was really super-"

The one he hadn't paid attention to, the one with white hair and scary red eyes, perked up. "Super, super awesome?" He chirped.

"Yea!" 'Tonio punched his fist into the air. The two he's dismissed as wusses rolled their eyes.

"Stupid bastard Antonio! Why'd you pick up another one?" The girl mumbled. 'Tonio cooed at her, picking her up, she was rather toddler sized and more than easy enough for 'Tonio to carry.

"Because he's cute!"

"Really?" The blonde one had an accent, and he made Miguel's skin crawl. This was one he couldn't trust. This one was the bad guy. But for some reason that only made the idea more attractive.

The white haired one held out his hand to Miguel, grinning. "I'm the awesomeness. Name's Gilbert."

"I'm Miguel, and ya hair's funny." Miguel tried, his voice still squeaking and slurring. He didn't like it. It made Gilbert laugh at him.

"You're pretty cute, but I've found cuter. Wait until you see Artie's charges. They're your age, and one of them's the cutest thing."

"Arthur stole that one from me. What was his name again?" The blonde one pouted.

Miguel looked back and forth; they were going too fast for him to keep up. He didn't understand what they were talking about and even though that might've been just as well, he was too curious not to ask.

"Huh?" He squeaked, tugging on 'Tonio's pant leg. He couldn't reach the shirt yet, he still was too small.

"Oh, Arthur's the neighborhood who… I mean, neighborhood uh… mess. He's a flat out mess, but so are we, so…"

"How is he a mess?" Miguel asked, wondering who named a mess. What type of mess? A mess of toys or of food, or… Did they mean that figuratively?

"Aww. You're so cute! …He's not a mess. His life is just very complicated." 'Tonio tried to explain.

"Oh." Miguel looked down at his feet, embarrassed.

Gilbert chuckled. "But his kids are super cute. One's annoying but cute, and the other one's just cute." He grinned.

The blonde stuck his nose up in the air. "I'll have you know that he is also my responsibility."

"Arthur took him away from you because he was sure you were abusing him, and you were. You forgot to feed him, you forgot he existed, now that I mention it, doesn't everyone forget him?" Gilbert exclaimed.

"Not that Arthur was much better, he just left the pantry door unlocked so that… what's his name again?" 'Tonio laughed a little when Gilbert's face exploded into color.

"It's freaking Mattie! And at least the reason Arthur keeps forgetting him is that Al is so annoying and so much work." Gilbert waved his fists around.

Miguel cowered behind Antonio, trying to figure out who or what they were trying to talk about. Someone who everyone forgot? Wait…

Who were they talking about again?

"Bastards, I'm trying to fucking sleep." The girl in 'Tonio's arms grumbled, snuggling in a little closer. "Damn 'Tonio you owe me a bunch of tomatoes."

Miguel felt himself turn a little pink when he wanted to be in her place even if he was too big. His feet were starting to hurt a little; his shoes were too hot and stuffy to wear in the summer so the gravel was cutting into his soles.

"Oh, we're so off topic, oui?" the blonde said, flipping his long hair over his shoulder. "I'm Francis, by the way." He winked at Miguel, and he shivered in return.

"You're creepy." He answered honestly.

"Ya, let's build Miggie a super cool-"

"AWESOME!"

"-tree house!"

"What, Miggie?" Francis chuckled. "That is such a cutesy nickname that I'm ashamed of you."

Miguel blinked as the conversation started going a bit too fast yet again.

* * *

Miguel watched the little girl, her hair defied gravity in one random strand, instruct them all on how they should build the house. It was rather scary to see her tell them what to do, but she was just like that, he found out.

"Hey, Miggie! Com'n, help me with some of these nails!" Gilbert yelled, waving a hammer a bit too close to Francis's face.

"Oi, oi. Watch the face." Francis scolded. Miguel laughed. Francis was just so fussy, it was funny. He turned to Gilbert and took a few nails and a small hammer. 'Tonio didn't trust him with a bigger one.

The wood they were using was ripped off the tables Gilbert had pulled up from dumpster diving yesterday. Miguel liked it; it was fun to look through some of the things other's thought were useless.

"Hey, hey!" Another preteen he didn't know was looking over their masterpiece with suspicious eyes. Above those leery eyes, the hugest pair of eyebrows he'd ever seen. He held one boy's hand, who couldn't have been much older than him. Another kid tried to cower behind his pant leg.

"Mattie! Artie!" Gilbert exclaimed. He stood up, careful not step on the nails, and he pulled out the kid who hiding behind the teen's leg. The boy smiled a little. His hair had a strange, swirling curl.

"Oh, Matthew! When did you get there?" the preteen who'd he'd been with exclaimed, and the kid's smile diminished. Gilbert laughed a little.

"Hey! IGGY!" The other one pouted at being forgotten for a second. His hair had a mini curl sticking out of the top, not like Matthew (Miguel had figured out his name by this point.) but more like a half moon.

"Yes, Alfred?" The preteen answered dutifully.

"Who's that?" He asked, pointing at Miguel.

"Your neighbor. Introduce yourself and he'll tell you who he is." The teen's green eyes were light and playful as he pushed the kid a little closer to Miguel.

"I'm Alfred, and I'm a hero!" He exclaimed, happy to be center of attention. Miguel realized at this point that his neighbor was annoying. The blonde family, as Miguel dubbed them, all had different eye colors, Mattie's being purple, Alfred's being a brilliant blue, and the teenager with the huge eyebrows had green.

Francis leaned over to the preteen and purred something in his ear. Both Alfred and Miguel felt insanely jealous.

"Por que?" Miguel spit out, forgetting that he was supposed to speak English, his second language. He wasn't good at it, he squeaked and slurred, but his Spanish, perfect.

"Iggy's mine, frenchie!" Alfred yelled, pounding on the tall blonde's leg.

Francis winced. "So jealous, so little. Arthur, you seem to have an admirer."

"Aww, Miggie can speak mi nacional legua, mi espaniol." Antonio cooed. The girl kicked him.

"Bastard. So can most of the cagnas you pick up." She grumbled. 'Tono began cooing at her instead, picking her up. She had an angry pout on her face.

Arthur, the teen with green eyes, smiled a little, and he scolded Alfred for saying untruths.

"But it's true!" Alfred protested. "I love you so when you're in trouble I have to go be a superhero and save you from the evil bad guys."

Arthur's face promptly turned pink as Francis snickered. Alfred didn't seem to get it. Neither did Miguel. He tugged on Alfred's arm, asking what was so funny.

"I don't get it." He squeaked.

"I'm a hero, so I get everything! And it's funny 'cause… cause…" Alfred had no clue either.

"Al, that's the wrong type of love. That's how you love girls. Even if you love me you don't love me that way." Arthur scolded.

"But I mean it! I wanna be your hero!"

Gilbert put down Mattie, and laughed. "Al, you aren't awesome enough to save Artie from Francis's grubby hands."

"Hey they aren't grubby!" Francis protested.

Miguel laughed. He was beginning to think that this would be very fun.

* * *

- Holy TIME FLASH-

Miguel sat in the top of the wooden, yet sturdy shack, feeling the worn out grain of the tree house. It'd been four years since it'd been built. It was his fort, his love, his escape. It was situated in Antonio's front yard, 'Tonio insisted that he wanted all of the orphans he'd picked up in or near his house. So Miguel's home away from home was here, in a grand tree that shouldn't even grow here. The leaves were thick, and it grew to be very tall. It towered over the neighborhood and the other tall trees next to it.

Its leaves were rubbery, and perfect. It was covered in other types of life, moss and vines.

"Miggie!" Alfred shouted up. "Let down the ladder, I want up! Iggy's being mean to me again!"

"Hey! This is my tree house, not a rehab center for hero freaks!" Miguel teased, throwing down a rope ladder. He could feel Alfred climbing up it, feel the tree house shaking. It wasn't very much fun. He glanced at his ammo stash.

He grinned like the devil, water balloon in hand.

Alfred almost dropped the ladder when he was pelted with balloon after balloon. "That is SO not heroic!" He protested, halfway up the giant tree.

"You deserved it! Maybe if you behaved once in a century, Arthur wouldn't be on your ass all the time, amigo." Miguel laughed. Alfred sulked a little, before continuing up the ladder.

Once he was at the top, another water balloon was thrown for good measure.

"What else do I do to make him notice me? If I behaved all the time like Mattie, he'd forget about me too." Alfred looked out from under water soaked bangs. He looked sheepish.

"Who?" Miguel stopped to wonder who Mattie was. Wasn't Alfred Arthur's only charge?

"Um… I think his name is Malik. Anyways, he's my sorta step sibling?" Alfred pouted. "No one remembers him. I live with him and I have a hard time remembering him. A lot people see him and think he's me. Which is odd. We don't look that much alike."

"You're memorable, Al. Almost too much. Arthur'll never forget you, si?" Miguel promised, pinky in the air. Al wrapped his around it and they shook.

They didn't always get along, and they fought a lot. But Alfred was dependable and unchangeable, and Miguel was always changing in some way or another. From the orphanage to his tree house, to what he wanted to be in life and his morals. Something annoying and constant was needed.

* * *

Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio took Miguel and Lovino out to dinner at a pizza place. Lovi wasn't his favorite person, her dresses and frills, and attitude annoying and chaotic, but 'Tonio was absolutely infatuated with her. She was thirteen or so, only 2 years older than him.

Gilbert was proclaiming his awesome as loudly as he could, being as annoying as Al on a bad day. Malfred wasn't there to keep him in line, so they just suffered. Antonio was being his usual self.

Lovino was grumbling about something or another, mentioning tomatoes with her strangely deeper than usual voice. Maybe she was hitting puberty hard or something.

Miguel'd stared at her chest, which was completely flat. Weren't girls her age supposed to have boobs by now?

"Bastard! Stop staring at my chest, you illegal bastard!" Lovino shrieked and Antonio covered up her mouth.

"You have nothing there to look at, mon cher." Francis joked. She shrugged. Weren't girls supposed to freak out when people insulted their size?

"It fucking creeps me out." She answered, since Gilbert was giving her a weird look too.

"Lovi, don't freak out. Someone might think you're acting strangely." 'Tonio grinned. He took this as an opportunity to pull her closer and snuggle his nose into her neck. Miguel crossed his arms.

He really should just confess. His attraction to her was obvious.

"Tonto." He muttered. "Admitir él"

Francis leaned in close, trying to hear him. He didn't know why the douche was sitting next to him, or why he was intent on invading his personal space.

"Oui? "

Miguel made a face of disgust. "I was just thinking about how icky you were, and if I ever saw you alone in an alleyway, I would mob you and steal all your money."

"I would enjoy that, mon cheri."

Miguel punched him in the nose. Then he grinned brightly. "Hey your face is mucho sexy like that!"

Francis pouted. "Are you taking lessons from la Sourcils in lack of romance?" Sourcils….? Miguel decided that he didn't want to know.

"Hey, ignoring me is so not awesome, ja?" Gilbert had out his phone and he was testing in shorthand to that one kid Arthur was taking care of… Miguel couldn't remember the name, so he shrugged.

"You're texting Mathieu!" Francis exclaimed. Oh yea, Matthew. Why couldn't he remember that earlier? It's not like that's a hard name…

"Yea. Al's being not awesome, so he's feeling down. And Artie's gone off somewhere. Left 'em with his kid brother, you know, Peter? And his older brothers. And apparently they're breathing down Al's neck about something, Mattie won't tell me what."

"Oh." Miguel said, leaning across the table to view Gilbert's phone better. "Doesn't he have one of those curls?"

Miguel was slightly embarrassed to admit he had one of those curls. They were contagious around here. Al, Matthew, Lovino, Lovino's twin sister, there were a lot of them.

"Yea. His is cute." Gilbert smiled at someone remembering Mat… who again? Francis seemed to have his memory frizz out too, because Gilbert sighed. "Matthew. Why am I the only one who can remember him?"

"Hey, hey! Lovi told me that he hated it when someone pulled his curl, and then I tried, and look!" Antonio exclaimed. Miguel's ears twitched. He flipped his head around to see Lovino's face red as… a tomato and her face scrunched up.

Miguel had many things to process. _Lovi told me that _**HE **_hated it when someone pulled _**HIS** _curl, and then I tried, and look!_

Wait, the whole chest thing, the not caring about being flat, the deeper voice….

"LOVINO'S A BOY? UN MIJO? EL NINO? MUCHACHO?" He shot out of his chair, screaming in spanglish. Holy hell transvestite cross dresser thing!

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO SCREAM IT, BASTARD!" Lovino shrieked back with just as much volume.

Antonio laughed. "You honestly didn't know?" He asked obliviously.

"But-but-but… no, no, no, no! I've thought you were a girl since forever, hell you're wearing a dress! Does that mean you twin is also… Holy hell!" Miguel's head was spinning.

Francis checked his forehead for a fever when he slumped back into his chair. "Non, I think he's being serious. We didn't try to hide it, darling."

Miguel banged his head against the table. "I need serious help. I don't know what I smoked, but si, I need help."

* * *

A tall Hispanic man pushed him up against the wall after school. Miguel stiffened. Who was this man, who was he? He trembled a little, not out of fear, definitely not out of fear.

"You're that boy who has that tree house, si?" He asked, his voice sounding just like Miguel's, same accent, just deeper. Miguel couldn't do anything but nod.

"You're pretty close to what my buddies think my son looks like." He man's voice, however, had a dangerous threat to it. "You'll find these men, and you'll give them this sack, si? They know you since you're born, you say you're Pedro's son, si?"

Fear started talking for him. What else did he do? "Uh, yes, mister." Miguel squeaked.

The man shoved a bag of strange smelling stuff in his hands. "Don't look inside, or let any one else see or smell this, and nothing bad will happen to you."

Miguel nodded. He was released, and handed a couple photos of haunted faces with blackened mouths. They reminded him of the man in front of him.

"Find them tonight, and I won't kill you. Brat, if you mess up, I will torture in the slowest, most painful way I can, then I'll kill you. I'll start by ripping off your fingernails, one by one. Then I will cut you open slowly, and grab hold of your organs, and rip them out slowly. Don't tell anyone, about me, or about that bag, si?"

"S-si" He squeaked. The man walked away, and Miguel immediately ran straight to his tree house. Once he was up, safe in its leaves, did he allow himself to let out a sob of anger and frustration.

He should've been so much stronger, should've stood up for himself. He didn't want to be this weak.

HE DIDN'T WANT TO BE WEAK!

* * *

Life continued as normal for Miguel, absolutely normal. It had been weeks. And Pedro kept making him do the Satan deliveries. Antonio didn't realize the reason for his down mood; he just brought him snacks up in his tree house.

Alfred stopped under his tree.

"Yo, my neighbor to the south." He called up; sounding like Miguel was used to. He smiled.

"Wassup, assface to the north?" He called.

"Lemme up!" Alfred demanded. Miguel obliged, dropping down the ladder. Alfred climbed up, watching for water balloons, but Miguel wasn't in the mood.

Once Alfred was situated nicely on the bean bag he'd dragged up there a few months ago, he started to blabber.

"And then Iggy told me to shut my mouth, and that I'm an insufferable git. I don't even know what git means, do you?"

"Alfred, what do you do when a bunch of jerks are bitches to you?" He asked, ignoring the blabber.

"Be a hero!" Al jumped up and laughed triumphantly. "I'm only a hero right now for Iggy though, I'm on duty. Any other hero business isn't allowed, Iggy said so after I jumped out of that tree with that cat."

"That was because you were being stupid." Miguel reminded him. "Estupido."

"Shut your face." He huffed.

"And I was talking about a serious situation, where you knew they were gonna seriously hurt you, so you did what they told you to."

"If you were in danger, you should tell the police. They hand dangerous criminal dudes like that. And they'll protect you." Al smiled a little. "They're like, ordinary people who are heroes. When I grow up, I'm gonna get some tips from Iggy on how to be one as my cover. You know, for my real super hero business?"

Miguel smiled a little. Oh, how he wished he could go to the police.

"They just wanted me to do some stupid, scary stuff. Go out after dark in some shady places and bring back pictures so they looked cool. They police don't handle bullying cases." Miguel looked away. Lying was a strong suit, but he found it hard to lie to Alfred, who was always so fucking honest. All the bullshit he spewed, he meant all of it.

Miguel smiled. It wasn't like Pedro would come back; it was a one time thing.

* * *

Oh, how much that previous statement was a lie. He was going to pretend none of this was happening. None of it.

Miguel moved his fork around his plate, moving the mac and cheese that the orphanage director had saved up to buy. He wished he could tell her that he had enough money in his pocket to pay for this meal and for twenty more, that he could give it to her.

It was so good that he wanted to make it last. The paper plate underneath the cheesy goo was pinky and covered in Dora The Explorer patterns.

Argie, one of his siblings, poked him in the cheek. She was seven now, one of the youngest of his siblings. His mom had been a hoe, she'd had many children and she dropped them off here when it got inconvenient.

Childcare. How he hated that word.

They were up for adoption, all of them, but no one wanted him. The littlest ones were always picked for the good and loving homes.

He swallowed a spoonful of the macaroni and he wondered if they had stayed with their mom, would they be better off? Eating little more than bread and butter on average, instant oatmeal and mac n cheese on the good days.

"Miggie?" Argie whined. "Can I have anything you don't want?"

Miguel smiled and nodded. Of course his sweet little sister deserved a little bit of his, she was worth it. He attracted the rest of his younger siblings, all of them crowding around his plate.

"Heeeeeey. Can I have some too?" Rosa begged. Her twin poked him in the stomach, asking the same question.

His face erupted into a smile. He could just go over to 'Tonio's and mooch food for his siblings. He looked over at his older siblings and his brother glared. A few of his sisters smirked or gave him appreciative looks. He was taking the burden of the little ones today.

He dealt out the last of his krafty cheesy goo, then grabbed their hands, and they grabbed their hands, and then the whole lot of them began walking over a few blocks.

Antonio accepted all of them with a huge smile. He gathered them in his kitchen and taught them all how to make tortillas. Miguel had been taught by him too, way back when.

One of his siblings sat down next to him, the quiet one, Alejandro. He was a product of their mom's trip to Chile, and he always had a quiet demeanor.

"Do you think it'll get better?" Alejandro asked quietly. He couldn't remember Mom, couldn't remember how she struck them when they whined, how she left them in her car for hours with little water.

Miguel was glad he thought life couldn't get much worse. He didn't need to know how much worse it could get.

* * *

Miguel found himself in his tree house again, ignoring his Orphanage director. Without the ladder, no one could get up to bring him down, so he kept it carefully drawn away from the small doorway.

The old lady sighed, yelling for him to come down once again.

He was in his fort, he was… untouchable. This was his tree house and no else's. This was his haven, his hideout, and it was a childhood toy that was keeping his weaknesses protected.

She started to leave, the distance too great to span, and the trouble was hardly worth it tonight. He'd get a scolding for this, he knew it. But he didn't want a cage.

He watched her walk several houses down, about six, and knock on Francis's door. He didn't know why she was trying so hard, it wasn't the first time he'd slept up here. He deserved it. After all, it wasn't like he was doing anything wrong.

Miguel saw Francis, sleepy with behead, poke his head out the door. It made him look innocent. The director seemed to give him a scolding, and he felt a little guilty.

He didn't want Francis to suffer for his being stupid. And stubborn. Those were some of his best qualities after all.

Francis seemed to get what she was saying, or asking, and he left to go get something. His parent's were probably asleep already.

What Miguel would give to have parents, hell, a family.

Francis came back with two pairs of slippers and he put on one pair. The other he held in his hands as he trudged over to Antonio's house with Miguel's tree house. He stopped at the bottom and he rubbed his eyes.

"Mon ami, you should come down. I need my beauty sleep." He purred, but it was probably just the sleep making it sound like that.

"I'm not gonna." He whispered, afraid his voice would give away what had happened to him.

"I can't let you stay up there alone. Antonio's not around to get you down, and Gilbert's off with Mathieu."

"I'm not leaving, Frenchie." He whispered, just a little louder. The likeliness of Francis hearing him was less than slim, but he didn't want to talk louder.

"Non. I don't break promises to ladies." Francis frowned a little. "I never said I would get you down. I said I wouldn't leave you up there alone. I'll be back, darling."

He left, shuffling back to his house where the orphanage director glared at him. Miguel could almost hear her. He knew what she was saying; he'd heard her yell enough to know.

Francis glared right back, Miguel could barely tell, but it was a glare.

Francis came back with a sleeping bag. It was stuffed full of things, it wasn't the right look of a roll. Francis couldn't honestly think he could… come up here and sleep?

Insanity. He'd never drop the ladder. The perverted frog would have to get another idea. Miguel glanced at himself, and he shuddered.

He didn't want anyone to see him like this. Let alone Francis. It was what his tree house was for, protection.

Francis stopped before the tree, motioning for him to drop the ladder. Miguel shook his head vigorously, but he doubt Francis saw it.

The orphanage director seemed to get what he was doing, and she started running at Francis, to stop him. Miguel's heart started beating faster. He didn't want her to take anything out on Francis. Not now, definitely not now.

Not when he was like this.

He swiftly dropped the ladder, and once Francis had grabbed on with his spare hand, he started to tug it up with all his strength.

He might've managed a few inches, but not all that much more. Francis was climbing like the police were after him, but he'd been smart. He grabbed the ladder after him, pulling it up as he climbed.

Once he was about a quarter the way up, there was no way the director with her stubby arms could've grabbed the ladder and climbed up.

It took Francis another ten minutes to finish climbing; it was a very big tree. And Francis stopped climbing as fast when the director gave up on them.

Francis tossed his bag up before him, and he accepted Miguel's hand up.

"Lo siento." Miguel whispered, his voice still not his strong suit.

Francis dove into his bags, nodding slightly at Miguel's apology. He dug out a flashlight from somewhere, and he turned it on, using it was a lantern. Once he got a good view of Miguel, he sucked in a gasp.

"Oh, baby. What did they do to you?" He murmured.

_**

* * *

**__**CLIFFY. I'm a meanie face, aren't I? Miguel is Mexico… DUH. As most of you know from Subsidal, and if you don't you can go read Subsidal, I support Mexico/France. Since everyone else in my pairing world is taken, I felt so bad about leaving France out alone.**_

_**Then I realized FRANCIS WOULD/CAN GO WITH ANYONE. Mexico is very traditional, where family is important, and it's a very beautiful place. France is will go after anything beautiful. It works. Those who disagree will have their flames considered, then covered with honey from all the rest of the reviews.**_

_**It's kinda funny, but I like writing couples from other's points of view. Like USUK, and PruCan, and what other's think about it. You can get it to be detailed, and you don't have to describe all the little details or anything.**_

_**My Mexico was a cross between two different Mexico Ocs, which is why he **__**isn't as spunky as one, or as collected as the other.**_

_**This is a constant WIP, so read back all other chappies to see if there's changes when I update... Since I do that, lol.**_

_**Just for your information and pleasure, this is a list of who I support together. (MOST OF WHICH I JUST MADE UP AS AN EXCUSE)**_

_**Canada x Prussia**_

_**America x England**_

_**Spain x Romano**_

_**Germany x Italy**_

_**Russia x China**_

_**Iceland x Norway or Denmark x Norway (depends on my mood)**_

_**Japan x Greece**_

_**Turkey x Turkey**_

_**Hong Kong x Taiwan**_

_**Belgium x Netherlands or Netherlands x Germany (WWII)**_

_**Hungary x Austria**_

_**Poland x Lithuania**_

_**Latvia x Estonia (they can tremble together lol)**_

_**Berwald x Tino (WHY CAN'T I EVER REMEMBER THEIR COUNTRIES?)**_

_**Ukraine x Belarus**_

_**Seychelles x Sealand (both little dependant islands)**_

_**Switzerland & Lichtenstein (Only family love, though.)**_

_**Egypt (single 'cause it just doesn't feel right to pair him up.)**_

_**Cuba x Canada (just 'cause of Cuba's crush on him)**_

_**South Korea x China (again, only 'cause of South Korea)**_

_**Rome x Germania**_

_**See? France is single! So now I've decided to support:**_

_**France x Mexico OR Fraxico**_


	2. Chapter 2

Francis looked him over, a worried and shocked expression on his face. He hand reached out, gliding over his bruised and bleeding cheek.

Miguel bit his tongue and looked away. Francis's eyebrows furrowed together. No wonder Miguel didn't want to come down from his tree house.

"Who did this to you?" He demanded.

"I owe a couple of favors to a couple of guys, and they weren't too happy with my progress." Miguel bit his lip and looked away, guilty written all over his face. Francis couldn't find it in himself to become angry, or demand more of an answer.

"Who were they?" He asked quietly, hoping he wasn't prodding too much.

"I already told you, a bunch of-"

"Non, what were their names? What did they want from you?" He decided that, prodding or not, there were some things he had to know. "If you tell me, I promise to ask no more. But you have to tell me the whole truth."

"You won't ask anything if I tell you, won't tell anyone?" Miguel shot a glare at him at the thought of him telling anyone else.

"I will not tell a soul." Francis promised …He knew a lot of people lacking souls.

Miguel looked away.

_There were four of them, cornering him. He knew what they wanted, the drugs. They were already addicted to them, beyond reasoning. They didn't consider that this was an 11 year old. Miguel knew that this was a serious tight situation._

_He was going to be hurt. No doubt about it._

_If he ran, they would get excited and follow, like hounds on a chase. If he hide, they would likely find him. But it wasn't likely to be as painful if he gritted his teeth and bore it. He could hide later._

_He could stay in his tree house and not leave and be a child once again in his tree house. But right now, he was responsible for his actions and he would have to take whatever they threw at him, pain and suffering and everything they had cooked up._

"_Where's our honey?" That's what they called it. The meth, the cocaine. The ecstasy, whatever he had with him. They would take anything now._

"_I don't have any." He trembled. Pedro hadn't visited him with the usual shipment, which was just as well. He didn't want to be involved in this. He hadn't asked for this. He was forced into this. But to these addicts, he was the source._

_And, like the fountain of youth, when it ran dry, they dug deeper into his skin until he had promised he'd get them what they wanted. He regretted the day he'd ever met them, regretted the day he'd been too afraid to deny Pedro's request, too afraid of his threat._

_This is why… why he hid._

_They begun to carve the knife into his skin, not deep, but enough to be excruciating painful. They were just marking him as their bitch. He felt several punches to his stomach. Blood splattered over the blacktop._

_They tortured him until he begged, screamed, that he'd bring the drugs to them as soon as Pedro came back, begged them for mercy. It took them several minutes to realize he was begging, several more to actually stop._

Miguel frowned, his description done, nothing more than whispers on the subject. Nothing Francis was satisfied with. He immediately felt bad as a trickle of blood dribbled down the Hispanic's cheek.

He dug around his in bag until he found the band-aids he'd shoved in there. They were originally for if he got any splinters, but he had found a better use for them.

"You shouldn't." Miguel's voice was so quiet Francis almost missed it. Francis frowned. Of course he should.

"You're bleeding. It'll get infected if I don't lick off the blood and bandage it." He teased, hoping it would lighten the mood. Of course, he might actually lick the poor boy if he was allowed, but he was on his best behavior.

"Pervert. Don't you have any water with you instead." It wasn't a question. It sounded dead. It sounded wrong coming from this child's mouth.

"Actually…" Francis winced. "non."

"F-fine."

Francis blinked. Miguel's face had gone red. Oh, he must've thought Francis'd been serious. Francis wouldn't turn down a chance to lick someone, however.

Wrong or not.

Francis pulled the boy closer, the smaller body fitting nicely against his. His tongue dragged over the soft skin, tasting the salt of the blood. It was disgusting, the taste was awful. But he'd been lying if he denied that it slightly turned him on.

Miguel shuddered a little as his tongue ran over a cut. Francis leaned back, pulling off the paper from the Band-Aid. He stuck it on carefully, trying not to cause any more pain.

He repeated the process, licking slowly and carefully. It wasn't very sensual, Francis was reigning himself in. He had to remind himself that this was just a kid. Who wasn't over 11 yet.

After his face was bandaged, Francis turned to the bruises scattered on the visible sun soaked skin.

"Mon cher, take your clothes off. I need to see how bad it is…" He purred, his eyes dropping in tiredness. Miguel's face flushed a little redder, but he complied. His torso was covered in bruises, and it looked like who ever had done this had done it to be more of a show than actual damage.

Francis didn't poke or prod; he had nothing he could do about bruises. Nothing seemed broken, by Miguel's mobility. He wasn't nursing anything as far as Francis could tell.

"You'll heal. Those'll hurt for a while, so be careful. Oui?" He tried. He glanced down at the clothes that Miguel had removed. They were worse than dirty, torn, and bulldozed.

Francis pulled out his clothes for tomorrow and he handed them to the Hispanic. "Stay beau for me, m'kay?" He murmured, pulling Miguel close.

"I'm not… pretty." Miguel answered bluntly. His voice cracked with childish tears. They didn't fall.

"I have an eye for these things. You will be." Francis replied, pressing their lips together for a chaste kiss. Miguel relaxed into his arms, just as tired as Francis was. If he'd been fully awake for the kiss, Francis was sure he'd be spitting fire and flames.

Francis tucked both of them into his sleeping bag. He could imagine the next morning in his mind and it sounded like fun if he could convince the Hispanic of what had happened once he'd fallen asleep…

It was none less than he'd suspected.

Francis was dangling off the edge of the tree house, no ladder to hold on to or anything. He could almost see his face, the exasperation evident and obvious.

Miguel scowled. "I do NOT appreciate being molested. Take your delectable fingers elsewhere."

Francis could also hear the little ding noise afterwards. He pulled himself back up into the tree house swiftly just to have a bone® crushing kick delivered to his nether regions.

Whimpering, he whined, "You didn't have a problem with it last night!"

"Out of my tree house. Now, fucker. I'm not your bitch. Go grab Arthur's ass or something." Miguel had a slight smile on his face, like he was planning something evil if Francis didn't obey his orders.

Like he'd deny Arthur's perky ass a nice grab. He, just as swiftly, took the ladder and climbed back down. Arthur's house wasn't too far away. He turned back and saw Miguel getting grabbed by his ear and dragged back to the orphanage, yelling Spanish curses that Francis could hear more than a block away.

He smiled just a little. The youth of today were so… spunky.

* * *

Arthur regarded him with a dark look before going back to cooking. His one little charge, the little sweet blonde angel whose name he couldn't recall, came up to him and politely said bonjour.

"Ah…" Francis tried to remember his name.

"Mathieu." He whispered, clutching a stuffed polar bear to his chest. His curl bounced a little.

"Mathieu, how old are you turning?" Francis asked, happy to see the little kid he had forgotten grow so tall. He looked about 12, maybe 13. He wondered if Arthur's brat was the same height.

"I'm almost 12!" He looked excited for some reason… Who was this again?

Francis just nodded, before he walked, wondering who the hell he'd been talking to. Surely not Arthur's brat. Pfft. Kid was still so annoying. Always dragging on his Arthur.

"Iggy, it's a bad guy!" Alfred jumped in front of Francis, barricading the door into the kitchen, which was a very dangerous place for Arthur to be. And not dangerous for him, on that matter.

"Oui, oui!" Francis held his hands up like a criminal, to show they weren't groping, molesting, touching, etc, anything they shouldn't be. "I mean no harm."

Alfred glared at him, but let him pass. Seriously, what was up with him? Speaking of the brat, he was almost as tall as Arthur's chin now, but his brother wasn't quite there… what's his name again?

He pulled Arthur into the pantry, away from whatever that was squirming on the table, and away from listening ears of certain American preteens with large mouths.

"You have connections with the police, oui? I need to contact officials." Francis was being entirely serious, and Arthur could tell it wasn't a joke right away.

"I'll get you through. What this about?" He asked, wanting more information.

"He didn't give me names, but I'm not always a good little Frenchman. I have the photographs." Francis said, fingering his treasure that he'd found that morning, even though he wasn't supposed to go through to trifle with the matter anymore.

"Hey, Iggy?" Alfred called. Arthur flinched. It was clear as day he didn't want the kid involved, and Francis understood that.

Arthur was very good at right and wrong and keeping people in line, but when it came to danger, even if Francis could see how it addicted him like a drug, he still had his protective instincts. He might instinctively involve himself in danger, but when it came to his "offspring" he kept them out of whatever it was he involved himself in.

This didn't even directly affect Arthur, but when the bad guys came looking for names, his would be one of them, and if they found out about the brats, Arthur would never forgive himself…

…However violent and motherly he would be in defense of his little ones. People would hang in the streets if they put Arthur's brats in danger. Especially one certain brat. Arthur didn't put out empty threats.

"I'm busy finding parsley, you git. Go bug Matthew." Arthur responded, making up some lie that made sense. Francis could understand the reasoning but he couldn't stop but to wonder who that was again… ah, Mathieu! His part responsibility with Arthur.

"But, but… ahh. Okay, but Francis better not grope your ass while I'm gone or else he'll find my foot up his." Alfred answered cheerfully.

Francis whined. He removed his hand. He'd been so close, too…

Arthur glanced at the hand, and back up to Francis's face. "I will set him on you if you do. It'll be an easier punishment than what'd I usually choose, but for now I think he's pissed at you and I'd love to see that. Now back to topic, give me them, and I'll bring to the people who need 'em."

"They're drug addicts. They abused Antonio's little friend, Miguel. You know, little Hispanic your brat hangs out with sometimes…"

He nodded, taking the pictures. "They have all the right signs. Black around the mouth, yellow skin, red and droopy around the eyes…"

Francis felt himself tugged out of the pantry as Arthur turned back to the wriggling black lump on the table.

"Is that lunch?" He asked, exasperated.

"What, can't you see I'm making sausage?" Arthur scoffed.

"Should I even answer that truthfully, mon cheri?" Francis scoffed at the lump. "Just let me cook, in return for the favor."

"Thank you, I suppose." Arthur pocketed the pictures and walked off to find his charges. How he loved those brats. Francis sighed, wishing that Arthur would love him half as much as he did Alfred. Or even Matthew, when he remembered Matthew.

Young love… And young tragedy.

* * *

Arthur didn't waste any time getting him results. Francis frowned as he was pulled into a coffee shop with the brit, and his brat who'd insisted on the place. Alfred stuck his tongue out. He didn't know why he was wearing earplugs; it looked rather silly, but Francis knew all the better.

Alfred probably wanted to know what was in the manilla envelope or why he had to wear earplugs, but Arthur was being stubborn.

"Francis, I'm sorry I couldn't leave him at home. You know how's he's like. And that applies to babysitters as well, he says he's too old for them. Absolute git." Arthur rolled his eyes.

Francis nodded, sipping his tea like a gentleman. This was not British tea, so he was safe.

Alfred slurped up his coffee, curious and disappointed. He wasn't actually all that young anymore, he was getting tall and filling himself out. He was twelve now, old enough to hear this and handle it, but for good reason was he not allowed to.

"I'm not getting this." He pouted, slumping. Arthur gave him a look, honestly telling him to shut his mouth and swallow it.

"Let the boy hear. It's not that big of a deal, this concerns a friend of his." Francis felt a kick under the table. Stupid kid, jealous and utterly in love with his Arthur.

Arthur glanced at the files. "Fine, I'll let him hear some of it. But not that much. Just the basic idea of what we're dealing with. And stick to technical terms if you can."

"You're babying him." Francis said, it was the truth. He told the truth as much as he could these days.

"He's a child."

"You were taking care of him when you were twelve and you didn't think you were a child."

Arthur removed the earplugs, and he sighed as Alfred gave him a weird look. Francis didn't smile. That stupid brat wasn't a baby anymore, Arthur had to realize that the kid was serious about him, and that he was a serious threat… to Francis's chances with the brit.

"What was that all about, anyway?" He asked, rubbing an ear. "You guys flirting or something?"

Francis wished.

"N-no, you git. I don't flirt with anyone, and especially not the likes of Francis." Arthur protested, his cheeks a little pink. It gave Francis a little hope, the little stutter giving insight into the brit whose heart was so unreadable.

"But you kept getting a worried, longing expression on your face and I was wondering if Francis was emasculated." Alfred laughed. Arthur gave him a look, then opened the manila folder.

"This is the profile for the men. They were a Julio Herman, a Jesus Amrita, Hijo Gomez, and a Fernando Lopez. Addicts for several years, jailbait for more than that. Several rapes on their heads. Posed as fake police for a while, taking things for evidence and never returning them. Mexican immigrants." Arthur pointed to the faces.

Alfred wasn't taking it well. He freaked when he heard some of the stuff just coming from Arthur's mouth.

"Why do you have this stuff, isn't this like confidential?" He protested, tugging on Arthur's sleeve like a maniac.

"Shut up unless you want those earplugs again! Honestly, why did you think I gave them to you in the first place?" He hissed back, before continuing. "They've been on a crime watch for five years, but they've never been caught. If he's in with these guys, it'll be hard to prove he's innocent."

"Who?" Alfred asked, a little quieter, his death grip on Arthur not releasing an inch.

"Doesn't matter." Francis told him, reading over the files.

"They're in this town for sure, and now the police have search orders for them that this has been confirmed. Possible locations have already been found." Arthur pointed to the profile of Jesus Amrita and tapped his finger lightly on his distinctive face. "There've been sighting of this famous nose around here, so it's safe to say that your little friend is in trouble, and not just doing a project on minor southwestern criminals."

Alfred got a strange look on his face.

"I know who it is. That one guy. I know him. He was at our school the other day, asking around for Miguel." Alfred had a sour expression on his face as he considered this.

"He was at your school." Arthur hissed. Francis shuddered. There would be bodies. Many, many bodies.

"He said he was Miguel's uncle. They didn't give him any info, but he said he'd just ask his friend to see what was up. Miguel's an orphan, so it could be that he was adopted or transferred orphanages since the last time he'd seen him or something so the guy couldn't find him… I thought it was kinda suspicious 'cause…"

"…If an orphan has any living relatives, they go to them instead of being adopted." Arthur completed Alfred's thought for him… and Arthur's expression struck fear deep into Francis's heart.

See what he meant? If Arthur only loved him half as much as he loved Alfred, he would be content.

* * *

It didn't take long until Miguel knew something was up. And he knew who to blame. But Francis had his loophole.

"You told." Miguel stubbornly faced him down with new shiners on his cheeks and forehead. Francis raised his hands in defeat.

"I did tell someone. I was merely expressing the danger that Alfred might possibly be in by knowing you, and Arthur just exploded with need for the details. Then he told the police before I could stop him." Francis was good at lying and bullshitting people. He was proud that he could spit such non beau words at the kid.

"You stole my pictures and went running with your tail between your legs straight to Arthur! Fuck you, you son of a bitch! Didn't you think that I might, maybe, be able to handle this on my own?" Miguel had his fist up, and Francis knew that he had to worm his way out of the situation before he died.

He found it slightly amusing that Miguel's face resembled Arthur's a little. In pure determination, fierce pride…

However wrong.

"They were hurting you, they were going to continue hurting you… I've known you for a long time, and you were terrified in your own skin. You weren't going to handle it. I don't stand by and watch beau things get hurt, and if Antonio isn't taking care of you, I'm going to." Francis said, then yelled, his anger becoming more and more violent as he let his feelings pour out.

"I didn't mean it like I had the situation under control, I said I could figure out a way to outsmart them-" Miguel was spouting such crap that Francis couldn't control himself. He slammed his mouth on the younger's, pulling him in a little closer and feeling the slender body that seemed to contain such stupidity that nothing could rival it.

Yes, kissing somebody was THE most effective way of getting them to shut up. I slept with your mother is another one, but since Miguel was an orphan… Francis just went with his instinct.

As if in a trance, Miguel's mouth began to tentatively kiss back. Francis smiled a little bit. If the Hispanic just kept like this, and kept quiet about things he really should just leave alone…

Miguel hardly reacted until Francis begun to pull away. He felt a punch get reaaal friendly with his spleen.

"What the hell was THAT?" Miguel stomped on his foot like the child he was. "You can't just go around kissing people who are trying to say things, it's unorthodox-"

Francis kissed him again, using one hand to pull him closer and effectively restrain both of the Mexican's arms, so his liver wasn't their next victim.

His spleen was hurting like Arthur right now.

Which is where Miguel had most likely learned the word unorthodox in the first place. So he WAS taking anti-romance lessons from Sourcils…

Francis would have to fix that.

* * *

Miguel had good reason to ditch school for another day. Pedro was out for his balls and Francis was out for them in a different fashion. He didn't know which one was scarier, actually.

That didn't mean that he could get away with not telling some of his siblings that he was ditching.

They didn't know exactly why, but him being sick was good enough for them to know. He was one of the oldest, he didn't want to make them think what he was doing was cool or something just 'cause he was a cool older kid.

Alfred stopped by on his way home, as usual. He looked a bit unusually pissy.

"Hey, American loooser, get off my property." Miguel called down when the American didn't do anything. He was just standing there.

"Why?" He heard Alfred ask. He threw down the ladder, Al was just being stupid and he'd climb up and they'd have a fight and then they'd be friends again and…

Did Alfred know? About his deliveries? About the drugs? Arthur wouldn't tell him anything like that, would he?

Alfred climbed up, avoiding Miguel's eyes. Miguel gulped. Maybe Arthur let it slip, 'cause the Arthur he knew would never tell Alfred anything and he'd never get Al involved with anything dangerous…

When Alfred sat down, he realized that Al's eyes were puffy. And red. That's when he realized it had nothing to do with him, and the shit he's in. Miguel immediately felt guilty. The world didn't revolve around him.

"Al, what happened to you?" Miguel asked cautiously. He got the feeling that the silence needed to be broken. And Alfred usually loved to talk, complain, whine, whimper… whatever it was that made noise and got other's attention.

"F-Francis and Iggy got in a fight over me, and now they won't talk to each other, and I'm not allowed to talk to Mattie, and… I don't know what I'm supposed to do because Arthur won't talk to me, and I don't really get what this is all about…" Alfred exploded into wails.

He looked really childish right then, and he looked a lot older than he was on a regular basis.

Miguel handed him one of his favorite comic books that he routinely left up there. He looked at it for a few moments, and started whining again.

"It's all my fault, everything is my fault, I'm the reason everything is screwed up, I want everyone to be friends again, and I wanna be a hero and save the day but I'm the v-villain!"

Miguel was pretty sure nothing he could say would help. He handed him a tissue box. Even though Al wasn't crying, his nose was runny.

Alfred blew his nose loudly, much like how he was on a regular basis.

"I'm pretty sure you aren't the cause of everything going wrong. It'd be impossible for you to manage." Miguel said, trying not to laugh. His friend was in the depths of pathetic.

"I am! I'm the worst kid ever! I don't wanna cause Iggy anymore problems!" Alfred sniffed until he rubbed his eyes. Miguel managed a half smile.

"You should go home and take a nap, you look exhausted." He said, watching the blonde sniffle and yawn. "When you wake up, come get me and we can play Super Smash Bros Brawl and you can beat the crap outta me."

Alfred yawned again and nodded, surprisingly docile. He climbed down the ladder as the sky turned millions of shades. The sunset was gorgeous today.

He climbed down after Alfred, deciding that if anything, Arthur and Francis's fight was more his fault than anything. As such, Al shouldn't deal with the after effects.

"Miggie, you should come inside!" Antonio called, oblivious of the whole ordeal that was making everyone's life a living hell.

But hey, Antonio could cook something fierce and so could Lovino, the creepy cross dresser. He shuddered. He'd know the boy for ages, it'd taken him so freaking long to figure it out.

Miguel smiled brightly however, when he saw his whole slew of siblings gathered around the table and gobbling down pizza; obviously Lovino had been the cook that night. Antonio winked at Lovino, who'd scowled, and for once, Miguel noticed the bottom of the pants that were hidden under the dress.

That made the situation just a little better.

He felt an extreme need for a cigarette and it totally ruined the moment. He grabbed a slice of pizza to stall his longing. Oh, Pedro would someday find himself rotting in a hole for this, someday.

He had to remind himself that he wasn't a child anymore, not really, and that even though he felt like one didn't mean he got the rights of one.

He'd left that whole world behind him in a hurry.

**

* * *

**

**I'm gonna make them 15 or so just 'cause even though France is pedo by nature, I don't want to write him pedo like that. He won't be so pedo in a little bit. Seniors go out with Freshmen all the time. It's not all that pedo, but when they're 6****th**** and 7th graders and the rest of them are all sophomores, it's just kinda creepy.**

**Yea… enjoy the crack. And I like my no review thing, so DON'T PRAY TELL REVIEW. I want to have the longest running story in FF history without a review. But I guess you can if you want to… Not that anyone I know would read this shit. Any sane person.**

**This is mainly to get my jitterbugs out.**

**Sorry if this is like, littering up the Hetalia Fanfiction page. Which it is.**

It's getting kinda stupid now, but this is a romantic comedy, and Mexico's drug war isn't ending anytime soon so it'll have a plentiful dose of crime. Watch out for the next HOLY TIMEFLASH.


	3. Chapter 3

Pedro pinned Miguel up the wall, the heavy scent of marijuana hanging around him like a heavy perfume.

"You think you can get away with running to the police, you slime?" He growled, his voice almost slurring from alcohol. But no, Pedro was too angry for his voice to be anything but rough. He made sure Miguel knew it.

"I didn't tell anyone, I… I…he guessed, and then he told his friend. He went through my bags while I was asleep and took the pictures. He didn't find the addresses-" Miguel's air was cut off abruptly by Pedro's hand, the much larger man smirking.

"What's this friend of yours' name?" He growled.

Miguel froze. He couldn't tell him it was Francis, he couldn't tell him it was Francis, the pervert may be out for his pants and he sorta hated the bastard right now but he couldn't betray his friend like that since it's enough that he's in this shit himself right now.

"BITCH!" Pedro roared. "You liar! You ran and told with your tail between your legs, you filthy street rat liar! You deserve to die, let the pigeons eat your body slowly and painfully, because NO ONE LIES TO PEDRO!" Pedro cut off his air source once again and dots swam in his vision.

He realized that there was only one way to live right now, and Miguel was a selfish being. "His name is Francis Bonnefoy." He croaked, feeling air rush back into his lungs. He dropped to the floor, relieved and starting to feel slightly guilty.

"Best wishes that's true." Pedro waved a little goodbye, dropping a bag of cocaine at his feet. He had another delivery, and this time, Miguel decided that if he was high as hell, none of this would matter anymore.

* * *

Miguel woke up with a headache and a craving for something he couldn't name. His skin crawled, and he shivered a little. He looked around. Red light district, for one, and also that he was in the middle of an alley.

He picked himself up, and he felt a strange sense of loneliness. He wasn't just alone, but he was alone in the red light district, where he didn't like to go when he was wasted.

He pick pocketed a few dollars from a lady's purse. He rubbed his head, his mind briefly wondering what the hell he was doing. Miguel actually didn't know, he wasn't thinking of anything at the moment.

He stopped at the little café, which was mostly more of a brothel than anything. There were a lot of girls ready to sell themselves for money around here.

He ordered a coffee, dark with cream and sugary things. His waitress smiled at him. She looked rather familiar. Wait…

Hanna? His cousin Hainela? Her smile there was no mistaking.

"Miguel, sweetheart, you're in the dumps, aren't you?" She asked, sitting down next to him briefly. It was hard to tell that they were related. Her parents both lived in Africa, both of them different shades of dark. One of them was Hispanic, the other pure African, and she came out with hispanic features and mahogany skin. Her hair was dark brown and silky. Rare for someone as dark as her.

Then again, she was always very poor, since she had to provide for herself. She couldn't waste too much time on her hair.

She wasn't old enough to take him in, as she also counted as an orphan. Their family is so stupid sometimes. Leaving so many kids around and just disappearing.

He smiled a little back at her. "I'm living in the dumps, Hanna." She giggled a little and ruffled his hair, making the blue-black locks fall in his eyes.

"Just don't stay there, okay? I can't get fired, so I'll go wait on someone else, 'kay?"

Miguel nodded, watching her walk off. She had it tough. But it's better than her home country, Haiti. That place was just a mess right now.

After he got food in his belly, he considered going to Hanna and telling her he'd like to stay. Maybe some mothering would help him, maybe no mothering would help him a little too.

* * *

Hanna, of course couldn't take him in. He puffed a little on the cigarette. He couldn't smoke anything too illegal in his tree house, after all.

"Mon Petit, are you up here-"

He didn't need to hear more to realize who had seen him. Miguel smiled wirly, knowing that he had no real excuse.

"Non. You're just eleven, you can't be doing this." Francis snatched the smoldering stick out of his mouth.

"You're not my mom!" Miguel snarled. "You're nothing to me, nothing. Wanna know what other stuff I've been up to? All the rest of this shit?"

"You're young, you have so much life left." Francis growled back, with almost as much fury as Miguel had displayed. It surprised him, he'd never thought Francis the one to get mad.

"I don't need you telling me what to do! I already have one crazy shithead on my back, I don't ned you controlling me! All the drugs, all that crap, I've done everything and I'm going to hell!"

Francis's face was blank. "I wasn't trying to control you, I was trying to protect you… mon cher."

Miguel shoved him back out the hole, fury written all over his face. "I can protect myself! I'm not a child, Francis! You have your own problems to deal with!"

Antonio wasn't talking to him anymore, but that was only a matter of time. The only person who still talked to him were his siblings, and Alfred. Alfred was his neighbor, and he did all these stupid things for him. Miguel didn't really care anymore.

Anything for a smoke, anything.

* * *

Alfred stopped by his tree house finally. He really was crying this time, for some odd reason.

Miguel let him climb up, curious more than ever. Alfred took his sweet time, but once he was up there, he just sniffled until it calmed down. Miguel wasn't sure that he had the right to do anything to help.

"Arthur was being a huge jerk today, Francis really d-dragged him down and I couldn't stand it. So I tried to c-cheer him up, and then we got in a fight and it just slipped out…" Miguel's emotionless existence felt a strange pain at this. Alfred couldn't have…

"I just told him I-I love y-you, and then-and then-he hit me on my face and told me to s-stop being a c-child!"

Miguel clenched his fists. Arthur didn't have the right- no one had the right to tell Alfred he was a child, not like that, never like that. The innocence was now marred forever on.

"And then Francis joined my side, and I-I didn't know w-what to do but s-suddenly I kicked m-myself out of the h-house and now I… I WANNA GOO HOOOOME!" His whole frame shook with sobs.

He felt the strong urge for a smoke, but he resisted. He rubbed Alfred on the back a little, because he was scared that if he didn't do anything it would become worse.

* * *

Francis saw him in the bathroom with the meth, he'd seen the look on the Frenchman's face. He dropped the bag of it, and he banged his head into the toilet, throwing up anything that was in his stomach.

* * *

Miguel watched his tree house burn. The whole tree was on fire, but it was rubbery enough that it didn't catch much fire. His tree house was gone now, his home, his safety.

Hatred boiled inside of him. He knew who'd burnt it. He knew who'd hit him in his very most tender weak spot. He knew that this was the end.

The end. This burning of his childhood marked that he couldn't be given the liberties of a child. Not anymore.

It took only a few minutes for the fire department to be there, and they put out the little bits of the tree that remained on fire. His tree house was nothing but ashes now, His old life was nothing but ashes now.

They didn't ask him much, they just thought he'd been playing with matches and told him to be careful and that he'd been lucky this time.

"See you, kid." The oldest one said, and they drove off.

Kid. How stupid. Didn't his tree house burning down mark the end of his childhood?

* * *

HOLY TIMEFLASH

* * *

Miguel flicked his lighter, feeling the smoke fill his lungs. Everyone who was cool had done this once or twice, but Miguel was one of the few people at Midvale High that kept up the nasty habit. He'd been smoking since he was twelve after all, why bother stopping?

The bathroom's smoke detector had been easy work. He threw the butt into the toilet and flushed it.

He glanced at himself in the mirror. His face was covered in grime, he lived on the street after all, and he didn't like when Ms. Gomez wiped his face off in front of the class. He cupped a pool of water in his hands from the sink and scrubbed, only the top layer of shit actually coming off.

He repeated the process until his face looked about exactly the same as before, his skin a dirt color by excessive sun stain and not enough showers.

Not many people would talk to him, but he didn't really care. His baggy black pants, the oversized hoodie and his dark eyes kept them away when his additude didn't. Miguel smiled a little, it came out half-assed.

Pedro would hit him if he had an active circle of friends and not just to usual people who would come by for drugs or a smoke. Pedro didn't want him to spill again.

Pedro of course, hadn't been able to extract any revenge the last time he'd let his mouth slip and Fran… he found out.

Arthur, of course, had been very, very upset and no one messed with Arthur. The short senior was still scary as hell, maybe even more so. Miguel shuddered. Pedro had had to rework his plan on how to distribute the drugs, and Miguel was now the dealer and Pedro the supplier.

Miguel heard the bell ring. Good, he'd skipped English altogether. He washed his hands again for good measure and headed for study hall.

He hid himself in a corner, away from the class supervisor but not far enough that she would think he was sneaking off to go smoke in the bathroom. Oh no; he'd already done that so he wouldn't go right away again. He'd wait until lunch and then he'd go again.

Alfred shared his study room, but he had other friends now. And his life was getting a more complicated. Arthur and he weren't even talking anymore.

The sophomore, however, instead of joining the one Asian he usually sat with, walked over to him. This was unusual behavior, Alfred and he had drifted apart as Miguel went into the dark side and Al had remained himself, innocent and "heroic".

Whatever, the darkside still has cookies. And drugs, and death, and… loneliness.

"Miguel." He said, not stiffly but not all that cheerfully either. His eyes were red and puffy, meaning that he and Arthur had been fighting again.

They had already had the fight to end all fights, but they were fighting, yet again. Over another totally different subject this time. Matthew.

"Why aren't you with Kiku?" Miguel asked slowly, afraid to poke the wrong button. When he poked Pedro's wrong buttons, he couldn't move for three days. Alfred was much stronger than Pedro was.

"He doesn't understand. No one does. I've tried everyone and no one understands." He sat down, his eyes betraying the emotion he was trying to keep inside.

"Matthew can decide for himself. And you decided to attack Arthur for his actions right as he decided to stop them. It's hard for other people to understand." Miguel whispered. Alfred's head hung.

"It's like he lit my heart on fire and it just keeps burning. Like ashes to ashes, we all fall down." His hair, once a brighter more brilliant blonde, looked more brown than blond at the time. "Number seven is A, right?"

Miguel looked down at his own homework and scowled a little.

"I have C, Al. Check yours again." Alfred was very smart, but he lacked common sense when he was miserable like this. You could ask him what his favorite color was and he would give you a different answer every time. The sad thing was that it wasn't even on purpose.

Alfred rubbed his nose. "Yea, you're right. I subtracted six and plused eight."

Miguel didn't have the heart to tell him that plused wasn't even a word.

* * *

Miguel stopped on his way walking to the orphanage, he refused to call it home or anything other than the orphanage because he didn't even live there anymore, and felt a piece of charred something fall on his head. He looked up at the tree, and he realized where he was.

The frenchie sitting in the said tree made him bolt for the nearest hideaway. He couldn't face Francis, not anymore.

"Miguel, come back here." The voice had gotten so deep, so glossy. The senior had only become more and more beautiful the time Miguel hadn't seen him. Only now did Miguel see that he was turned on by it, turned on by the whole package.

He'd need a whole hell of a lot a drugs to admit it. Or deal with the pain that the whole scar was trying to heal over.

He walked back, feeling the need for a drug, any drug, to make him sky high and without any problems. Francis was probably wearing a smirk, knowing him. Even the name was painful right now.

"Come, kiss me." The french accent only made those words more piable. He could imagine himself walking up and planting a small little peck on his lips, innocent and shy, but that's where it stopped. He wasn't going to imagine what he really wanted, quick, deep, and dirty.

"But I-" He protested.

"Non. You've filled out a little more, and now you look quite desireable. Now kiss me." Francis climbed out of the tree with grace. He pulled Miguel's face to his. "Mon cheri"

"Fuck you!"

"I will oblige." The smirk, those slightly pouty lips, the tiniest bit of scruffy elegant beard; it was all so attractive.

"Let me go! I don't want to deal with you!" He struggled to get away, even though there was little more he wanted in the world than to be taken by Francis and relished and loved for once.

Even if it was Francis.

His face was dropped and the Frenchman walked away. Miguel felt his heart skip a beat. He was just being himself, and he… wanted everything to be right again, for Francis and Arthur and Alfred and himself to all be friends.

And for him to be in his treehouse with all of them and for all his little siblings and older siblings to be able to eat Mac 'n Cheese whenever they couldn't afford a real meal instead of Mac 'n Cheese being the best thing on their plates, and for Antonio and Lovino, even Lovino the freaky crossdresser, to be happy.

And he wanted Francis, Francis. He had no real history with Francis but that didn't really matter.

"Wait!" He called, and Francis turned a half inch. The look on his face told Miguel that if he wanted any of that, that he would have to earn it himself.

Miguel smiled a little. He ran after the blonde.

* * *

Morning is a goog feeling. A strangely good feeling, Miguel mused, as he felt one of the blonde's hands tracing his browline gently, another not so subtly nearing his ass. He swatted both of them away before rubbing his eyes and getting the strong desire to smoke.

Gawd, he needed a smoke. He was gonna get crabby without one.

"Miguel, you should go take a bath. You smell. Oh- but not necessarily in a bad way." Francis held his hands back once Miguel's tired eyes focused in on them. Miguel decided that stink was probably one of his main problems, yes. But he didn't feel like submerging in water yet.

"'M not dirty enough." It was a challenge. Francis would never fall for it, but it was a challenge. Miguel rolled over, leaving his exposed chest and open shirt for the frenchie's eyes to see. Again, another challenge.

"I'm surprised to see that you've sunken below my level, Miguel. I would never say a statement…" And here Francis crawled on top of him and began to purr. "With such… bravado."

His hands traced patterns on Miguel's chest; the morning light making the shadows dance.

"I need a distraction from my desire for a cigarette, and you're clearly the most interesting thing in the room." Miguel smirked, which he knew was yet another challenge. The frenchie would give in and give him what he wanted. That, or he wasn't Hispanic.

* * *

Gilbert wasn't someone he'd talked to recently, or in the past year. Antonio and Francis hadn't been all too eager to speak to him recently, except for Francis's sudden decision to do exactly that yesterday night. Since they were his best friends, that meant he wasn't inclined to either.

But there he was, sitting next to him with his phone out and he was mass texting to someone he couldn't quite remember.

Martin? Yea, that sounded about right…

"Hey, aren't you texting that one kid Martin?"

"Matthew."

Miguel was sure it couldn't get much awkwarder, so he continued failing to make conversation. The albino was still ignoring him for the small beeping device of his.

"What'cha talking about?" He asked boredly, chewing on the end of his pencil.

"Alfred is being a dick to him and it isn't awesome. Arthur had entirely forgotten he exists and Francis is ignoring the whole situation. I'm the only person awesome enough to be there for him." Gilbert continued texting.

Who was he talking about again? Melvin?

"Matthew." Gilbert replied when Miguel continued to be silent.

"Uh, thanks. You like him or something?" Miguel asked. Not like he expected the albino to have a boy crush, just that he expected there was something between the two of them. It was oddness, much much oddness.

"Shut up, stoner. I like him, so what?" GIlbert looked up from his phone with a glare. "He's dealing with a lot, and I will kill you if you give him crap for this."

Pissed off much? Miguel smiled just a little. "I'd never hurt the kid like that. Even if I start something, I won't have any right to talk."

Gilbert lightened up. "Sorry, just that people started spouting all this crap about me and him and that I'm fucking him in the bathrooms and stuff, and it's pissing me off. Mattie shouldn't have to deal with this fucked up shit."

"People like to start that shit. I know you're not doing that in the bathrooms because I'm in there smoking a joint every other day." Miguel added for emphasis.

"I'd forgotten how awesome you were. Not as awesome as me, but still pretty damn awesome." Gilbert grinned and they punched each other's fists. Miguel was pretty impressed by the one handed typing skills Gilbert was displaying.

"So do you like him?" Miguel had to stick with him because the name escaped him. Again.

"Yea. But there's this other guy I like and this chick I have something for, so it's not going to go anywhere. And he's too shy to get it up anyway. Mattie is was too cute for me to consider that in the first place." Gilbert laughed a little, typing back a one emoticon answer to something Matthew had texted.

"That's cool I guess. I have it for Francis."

"Who hasn't? Even Arthur and him had a fling way back when. But that was like… 3 years ago. Good luck getting together with him. He has eyes for only one. Sheesh."

"Who's he like?" Miguel asked, curious more than insulted. Even if they'd fucked around didn't mean Francis didn't have six other girlfriends. He knew all about France's antics.

"Ha, I'm joking. Francis likes anything that can give him a good screw or a bottle of tequila." Gilbert drank something out of a can, and Miguel had his money on said… tequila.

I guess I fall under that category, he thought wearily.

"He seems more like a wine person." Miguel remarked at last. The pause was getting to him. He hated the silence. It was creepy.

"Wine's not up to snuff here he says, but the bastard is such a whiner that I'm betting it has nothing to do with that." Gilbert grinned. "Mattie has this thing for fruity little drinks. I'm not a fruity drink person, beer's the good stuff, but I like seeing him drink them."

Who was Mattie again? "I like tequila and rum, but it's too expensive these days. I'll have to make do with what I can get." Miguel shrugged, and then they fell into another lasped silence.

He didn't talk to Gilbert again for a while.

* * *

Alfred's life was driving the whole high school community.

The popular teens would lay off of the verbal beatings when he was around, and all together if he was feeling sad. If he was mad, they would respectfully stay in their little groups and suck up to him.

When he was happy, the smokers would stop getting high and ditching class, because he honestly made those classes more fun. When he was sad, they smiled and offered him a smoke. When Alfred was angry, they would stop smoking, and they would give him proper reverance.

The nerds would gladfully help him with his homework, and give him all sorts of advice when Alfred was cheerful. They would reach out to him when he was feeling blue, and they were the ones who sympathized with him when he was feeling angry.

The choir and band students would wave and blow out a note or sing a rythem when he came around to see what they were up to. When he was just walking by, with his head down, the sophranos would hum a happy song, and the altos would loudly sing an upbeat tune. The orchestra students would play something they knew he liked, and the band would always, no matter how he felt, give him a warm welcome.

Everyone excepted him, everyone knew him. It was hard not to, as Miguel was finding out. Alfred was gaining more and more of his attention.

"Miguel, do you know what 27 is?" He asked. Miguel lent him his papers, and he searched for differences. Alfred was brilliant, as brilliant as brilliant was worth. He was the best at the maths and sciences, and he was interested in almost everything so everyone had something that they could relate with him.

Even Miguel noticed it. Alfred's sadness was affecting the whole school. Everyone was trying to cheer him up, but two select people.

Arthur, for one, was hurting over their fight and he wasn't ready to apologize. He wasn't going to be ready for another few weeks. Miguel pursed his lips. They senior was even worse than Alfred, by far. But he always had his nose in a book and he acted indifferent.

And Ivan, who was a recent transfer student from Russia, who hated Alfred and all he stood for. Alfred hated him back for hurting others, but he dealt with it quite simply.

They ignored each other to a fault. But now Ivn seemed to want to reach out, to say something to him for comfort, because Alfred was bottling so much inside.

Miguel took a long drag. He watched the other smokers in the bathroom do the same. They liked it when they could slum a cigarette from him.

He hardly ever let them, but they hardly ever wanted more than the one that was smoker's code. If you wanted to smoke at school, you must at least bring one cigar or cigarette before asking for another. But you didn't necessarily have to smoke it.

They only really wanted one because Alfred was around and they didn't want to disapoint him. He thought they were better than the urges to inhale the nicotine, and they wanted to be better.

"That's it, then." He muttered. "Alfred needs to stop fighting with Arthur. This needs to end."

The other smokers murmured their agreements. Miguel smiled warily. If one thing needed to change, it was that Alfred needed to smile.

Miguel dropped his cigarette in the trashcan and he left the bathroom to go to whatever class was next, or maybe another bathroom where he could alone.

If Alfred made the school turn, then it had stopped rotating. And he hated winter with a passion.

* * *

Francis watched his beautiful little Arthur pace around the room. It was a boring yet wonderful sight. Arthur had this walk that emphasized how much of a prude he was, and Francis saw that as a challenge.

A challenge indeed. He'd been trying since he'd met the prude.

"I can't believe him, it's like he wants to aggravate me! And why did he have to drag Matthew into this? Why the hell couldn't he just live with hurting me and then leaving his brother out of this? He used to be just annoying, but then he had to start this!" Arthur stomped his foot.

"I was almost ready to forgive him! If he grovelled enough to me, then that grovelling would be enough for me. He could stay out by himself, because I wouldn't care!" Arthur stomped his other foot.

"He brings out the child in you." Francis remarked.

"Child? I'm 17 and I'm soon to be 18, I'm not child! He's the child, he's only 15!"

"When you were 15, you were taking care of both the brats and quite perfectly too. You even beat up four drugdealers who were on your ass, and I think three of them are terrified of you and are still in the hospital."

Arthur stopped at this. "He's a child. He's my child." He hissed.

"But he's not. You were only taking care of him, and my brat, for a few days as a school project. Your parents told you that if you liked it, you could take care of them. When they died, you took care of them still. But they were never yours." Francis answered back, used to this agrument.

Arthur wouldn't let it go. Like empty nest syndrome.

"But they are mine. If they didn't belong to me, if they weren't my children, then…" Arthur paused and bit his lip. Francis blinked. This wasn't the routine. He leaned forward eagerly.

"Then…" He echoed, wanting more out of the brit.

"Then I am nothing to them. I mean nothing! I don't want to be alone! I don't want to be alone… without Alfred. If everything is as white and black as you say, then I am evil and wrong and he should leave me forever and never come back."

"You have me-" Francis tried, but it only drew Arthur's wild green eyes on him.

"I don't need you, you fucking frog! I don't love you! I love him! I can't stop, and I know it hurts him that I'm around!"

Francis shook his head before getting up and leaving the mindless Brit behind. This had to stop.

* * *

Miguel crawled into Francis's arms eagerly. He had already gotten his deliveries done, and smoked a little meth. He didn't want to do too much because it smelled and he didn't want to. But addiction is hard to get rid of.

"You smell." Francis remarked.

"I didn't even do that much. Just enough to keep me from eating someone's car tonight." Miguel murmured sleepily.

"You smell just from having it on your person." Francis sniffed. "But you also smell like you've taken a good bath, which you really needed."

He had taken a bath before coming here. He wanted to be clean. Ish. Miguel snuggled so he was comfortable.

"I did take one. The meth smells and I don't want to get arrested." He excused. "You're being strange tonight."

"You should know that I fancy Arthur, oui? He turned his sexual frustrations on me and screamed for an hour about Alfred and himself. I tried to comfort him, and he kicked me out… 'Cest la vie." Francis sighed. Miguel growled a little at the mention of Arthur.

"You should really give up on him. Not only is Alfred making him bitchy, but Alfred will kick your ass if you make a move toward him." Miguel lied. Well, it wasn't a lie, more like a diversion from what he really felt about the whole thing.

He felt Francis's arms around him. "I know. Oui, oui. Arthur just has something about him that is utterly attractive. A mixture of denial, looks, and a jealous lover."

"Having a jealous lover makes one attractive? Whoa, I really should go tell Pedro that I wanna go out with him, because then you'll be all over me." Miguel joked.

"Don't talk about that filthy rat." Francis hissed in response. "If he was not Arthur's to kill, I would've ended him long ago."

Oh yea. Sensitive subject. "I was joking." He smiled.

Francis responded by wrapping his arms around the Hispanic, pulling him into his chest. Miguel slept soundly. He liked this arrangement. He had no home, so he stayed at Francis's. And Francis would give him kisses and shower him with some form of protection.

It wasn't attraction, but Francis went for everything, and he was a thing.

* * *

**I don't know why I continue writing this. Maybe for the US/UK? I dunno. Mexico and France is crack. Pure crack, but it's sooo fun to write because I love to hurt France in all his Franciness.**

**I'm open to couples and stuff, so if you want one that makes sense then I'll write something for it. This is the only crack pairing I even support. Whoa, that makes me kinda pathetic. Yea!**

**I blame my NM side. It makes me think Mexico should be paired with a dirty pervert for isolating us.**


	4. Tamales

Aspirin was a gift from god. Miguel swallowed down the small pill with a glass of water and a tamale. It was nearing Christmas, and he had to. Francis had let him buy the ingredients.

So started the first round of Tamales.

"Really? It's only been a few 100 tamales you've made today." Francis rolled his eyes sarcastically.

Miguel glared at him. "I have a lot of relatives and friends, and you have a job, plus allowance from your parents, so you're up rich enough to pay for this."

"Oh, please. If I was rich enough to buy more than a thousand tamales, I'd tell you. You're going to run out of something soon." Francis motioned to the pantry, which was probably bare by this time.

"Sheesh. I have a lot of relatives but not a thousand. And I've been munching on some of these." Miguel washed his hands and he went back to the painstaking process of making yet more tamales. He'd already Mexicanified the whole house. Not only were poinsettias all over the house, and lumeneras all over the outside of the house, but the tamales were being made.

"I'm french and I think this is crazy. Really crazy. French people do crazy things on principle. How are these things going to go fast enough that you have to make more?" Francis grabbed one of the finished ones from the counter, and he unfloded the corn shuck to get to the fillings inside.

"Just eat it and you'll understand." Miguel ground out. He was currently making corn look like a plup, since he had to buy so much corn for the shells.

Francis took a bite. He chewed, then took another bite.

Miguel was about to punch something if Francis didn't say something soon. "So what do you think, Francis?"

"I think you can cook when you're not smoking weed."

A spatula was thrown at the french bastard. Silence reigned.

"I like your cooking too." Miguel muttered, continuing on the painstaking process to make his tamales. Francis pulled his head to his chest and kissed him affectionately on the top of his head.

* * *

**Well, it's just a short little chappie I wrote for christmas, but since it's Christmas in July (lolNOT) I wanted to post it. I'll put up an actual chapter later. Much later.**


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